


A Singer in the Starlight

by margdean56



Series: Stories of the Hawkfriends [3]
Category: Elfquest
Genre: Fixed Star Holt, Gen, Hawkfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-19
Updated: 2011-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 07:17:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margdean56/pseuds/margdean56
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kestrel and Starsinger meet Fixed Star Holt, in particular its enigmatic chieftess, Starspell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Singer in the Starlight

**Author's Note:**

> Since this is a holt story, the characters other than Kestrel and Starsinger all belonged to other holt members. The story was intended for publication in the holt zine, _The Constellation_ , but the holt folded before that could happen.

No moons would shine this night, an event as rare as those times when both appeared in their full glory. To at least one upon this nameless world it was an event infinitely more precious. The air was clear, sharpened by the chill of the oncoming white cold, and the sky cloudless. The black dome of the heavens was pierced by the brilliance of countless stars.

She stood on a hilltop that rose above the surrounding forest, her opaline eyes upturned to the night’s thousands. If any had been there to see, they might well have thought her a star that had taken corporeal shape, this ice-pale slender form, cloaked in frost-white hair long enough to form a shining train behind her, that gleamed faintly in the silver light.

On this night Starspell had left her followers to come to this solitary height. She still could have sensed her tribemembers if she cared to, whether their thoughts murmured sleepily in the safety of their holt or exchanged bright arrows of sending as they hunted in the dark woods. But for this night she had closed off that part of her mind so that she could be alone with the stars. In the silence that was the absence of others’ thoughts, the call of those silver fires was strongest. She opened herself to it and let it pierce her with a longing that was both pleasure and pain.

After a time whose passage she did not feel, she gradually became aware of a sound drifting up from the woods below. Music — surely it was music — yet of a kind she had never heard before. No bird had such a voice, nor any other living creature, elf or human, furred, feathered or otherwise. It was a shimmering, liquid-crystalline sound that rose and fell gently upon the night breeze. What could it be? The song of falling water came closest to it — that, or the song of the stars, given the power to sing itself into physical ears. Starspell’s eyes widened in unaccustomed wonder and turned downward to the thick trees. Slowly she began to walk down the hill toward the sound.

She could have used her powers to scan the woods for other minds and perhaps locate the music’s source. She did not. The music was a sweet mystery for the moment. For one with Starspell’s abilities who had seen as many turns of the seasons as she, such mysteries were all too few. For now she was content to follow the sound and let the shimmering fall of notes trace a path for her through the trees.

The path ended at the foot of an immense beech with no other living thing in sight. Momentarily confused, Starspell laid a hand against the smooth silver-grey trunk, half expecting to feel it vibrate like the throat of a singer. Then with a sudden smile she looked up. Far above, the branches of the tree cradled a slim form. The starlight picked out the deft movements of slender four-fingered hands and gleamed softly on pale hair.

At that moment the musician raised his voice in song. Starspell felt her heart contract. That voice, so sweet and clear and true … surely she knew it from the past? Almost her lips formed his name. But no, that voice had been stilled long ago; that singer had died in her arms and all her love died with him. Unless the dead could return, this singer could not be he. Nor was it, she realized as she listened longer. Similar — uncannily similar — but not the same. And even Moonkeep had never produced such liquid-crystal music.

Music and voice intertwined in a song of a starlit night. So completely did the words and notes of the song capture what they described that it was as if the night itself had found a voice or that the singer was singing the night into being. Woven into the song too was the sweet longing of the stars’ call. Once again the sound drew Starspell irresistibly. She lifted off the ground and ghosted upward.

The song rippled to a close. The singer’s voice ceased, and his hands on the harpstrings stilled. When the last whispering note died away he sighed and lowered his eyes from the overarching dome of stars.

“Don’t stop,” said the tall, slender apparition that leaned against the tree-trunk not far from his nest of branches. Her tribemembers would scarcely have recognized the gentle, pleading note in Starspell’s voice. The singer only smiled, too enrapt yet by starlight, night and music to be more than mildly surprised.

“That was the end,” he explained. “However,” and his hands began to ripple across the strings of his instrument again, “since I fear you will vanish, radiant vision, if I do not…”

“I have no intention of vanishing,” Starspell said. “Who are you, singer in the starlight?”

His hair was not white as she’d first thought, but of the palest gold, like mingled moon and sunlight. His eyes widened; they were the clear green of summer leaves. “You have named me already, shining lady, for Starsinger I am called. And what shall I call you?” he went on dreamily, underlining his words with a softly plucked melody. “Spirit of starlight, bright shadow of imagination … High One, perhaps?”

“You flatter me, singer.”

“Indeed I do not,” Starsinger replied earnestly. “I only seek to understand how a vision of such beauty could appear before my waking eyes. If I am awake.”

Sometimes it takes a special kind of sight to perceive the obvious. In all the time since she had left her home, in all the years she had wandered, alone or in the company of other elves, no one had ever called Starspell beautiful. She had been feared, admired, hated, even loved, but nowhere had she seen what she now saw in the singer’s gentle green eyes — the simple, wondering acknowledgement of her beauty. It was as if a rich treasure, hers by right, had been given to her as a gift and thereby became more precious. A smile lit her face as she looked at the singer, a smile that even Firefrost, her closest friend, had never been privileged to see. “You are awake, Starsinger,” she assured him. “I am an elf, as corporeal as you are. I am called Starspell. I heard your music and came to find the source of it.”

Starsinger smiled back a little ruefully. “My lifemate would probably say I shouldn’t play so loudly in a strange wood. Another time I might not be so fortunate in my hearers. We almost ran into some humans not too long ago. But sitting here on such a night, with all that glory spread out above me—” One hand swept up toward the starry sky. “—calling in a million silver voices … how can I keep from answering?”

“I know,” said Starspell in a low voice. “I too was — listening.” They gazed at each other in wonder, the thought hanging between them unspoken, _You too? I thought I was the only one!_

It was Starspell who broke the mood with a tiny, uncomfortable toss of her head. “And what brings you to this wood, Starsinger?” she demanded.

“Ah. That is a different call. My lifemate and I are on a quest to find—” He broke off, a listening expression on his face. Starspell’s mental senses reached out without her thinking about it and she caught the locksending he was receiving.

**Starsinger!** Both urgency and delight were in the mental call.

**Kestrel!** he answered. **What is it? Where are you?**

**On my way back to you,** the other mental voice — female, Starspell noted — replied. **Starsinger, I’ve found other elves! I’m bringing them to meet you. A couple of them have bondbeasts, so don’t be alarmed when you see them.**

**Me!** he sent back amusedly. **Might I remind you who was more alarmed the day Lark brought home the mountain-cat?**

With a mental chuckle the other broke contact. Starsinger turned back to Starspell. He seemed slightly astonished to find her still there. “My lifemate is coming,” he said almost apologetically. “She seems to have found some friends.”

“I see,” said Starspell. “Well then, let us go and meet them.” As Starsinger climbed down the tree, his harp slung across his back, she drifted down beside him. For one who evidently could not levitate he did not seem particularly surprised by this, though he glanced at her often as if to make sure she had not vanished yet.

By the time they reached the foot of the beech, Starspell could sense the approaching party of elves. In a few moments they came into view, Riskrunner and Farscout astride their wolves flanking an unfamiliar female elf, while Redstar brought up the rear, the carcass of a deer slung across his shoulders. Starspell studied the newcomer critically. She was small, about Riskrunner’s size, with waist-length reddish hair confined by a headband and bound at the nape of her neck with a leather thong. She wore a leather tunic, breeches, and boots trimmed with beaded fringes, and bore a bow and a quiver of arrows. From her beadwork belt hung a stone knife. She looked the complete barbarian, Starspell thought with disdain. And this was Starsinger’s lifemate? The singer himself, she noticed, wore leather clothing, worn and travel-stained, but its cut and style were subtly different, more civilized somehow. Yet he too bore a small dagger of chipped stone, and when he spotted the ruddy-haired she-elf he hurried forward with a glad smile.

The two embraced. Then the female turned to her companions, saying, “This is Starsinger.” She gestured toward the others and said to her lifemate, “The two on the wolves are Riskrunner and Farscout, and that’s Redstar. They were out hunting too and we ended up tracking the same deer. They live in these woods. There are more of them, but the others are back in their — ‘holt’, did you call it?” She looked at Riskrunner, who nodded.

“And you, I take it, are Kestrel,” said Starspell, stepping out of the shadows of the trees into the starlight. The small huntress glanced up, startled by the new voice, her hand darting for her knife. The motion was halted as she took in the tall, slender, frosty-haired figure. Her blue-grey eyes opened wide.

Starsinger touched her arm. “This is Starspell,” he told her.

“She’s our chieftess,” Redstar added. “Don’t mind her. She likes to surprise people.”

Kestrel stared for a moment longer, then relaxed with a laugh. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You don’t look much like your tribefolk.”

“With good reason,” Starspell replied with a superior smile. “None of them are like me. I am Starspell, Mistress of Mind and Magic, and the last of the Opal-Eyed Elves.”

“We all come from different tribes,” Farscout put in. “Most of us were wandering around on our own till Starspell found us or vice versa. So we’re a pretty mixed lot, as you’ll see when we get back to the holt.”

“Can we go _now_?” Redstar interrupted. “I don’t like to complain, but this deer is getting heavy.”

“Sure,” Kestrel said. “Just let me fetch our gear.” With little apparent effort she leaped a good hand of elf-heights straight up into the branches of the beech tree, where two small bundles were tied.

Riskrunner looked up in surprise. “You fly!” she exclaimed.

Kestrel glanced down as she untied the bundles. “Who, me? No, not exactly, but I float pretty well.” Hefting a pack in each hand, she descended smoothly from her high perch. She handed one pack to Starsinger and slung the other over her shoulder next to her bow and quiver. “Shall we go?” Then she seemed to feel Starspell’s eyes on her, for she turned to the white-haired elf woman and said, “With your leave, that is.”

Starspell had a cutting retort ready. It irritated her that her attempts so far to overawe this diminutive stranger had been defused, deflected or passed over. But at that moment a whisper of strings came to her ears. She glanced over to where Starsinger was slipping his instrument into a leather case. A small smile appeared on her face.

“Of course,” she said.

“You mean _all_ your tribes were killed?” Kestrel looked around at the various members of Fixed Star Holt. They sat around a small fire, finishing off the last of the deer’s meat and trading stories with the newcomers. “That’s terrible!” the young huntress exclaimed.

“Why, isn’t that what happened to you two?” Redstar asked from where he lay sprawled next to Firefrost and Blackash, gnawing on a rib.

“No!” Kestrel looked astonished. “Or, well, it happened to Starsinger, but that was years and years ago, before he came to the Aerie and we Recognized. No, our tribe was well and flourishing when we left. I wonder what they’re doing now,” she went on wistfully. “A lot of hunting, I expect, getting ready for the white cold. It’s the storm season in the mountains — there’ll be stormdances. Galedancer promised Lark she’d teach her this year. She’ll probably do it better than I could. You get nervous when it’s your own child.”

“Lark is your daughter?” Riskrunner asked. Kestrel nodded. “It must have been hard to leave her,” the golden-haired wolfrider said softly, slipping an arm around the shaggy neck of her bond-wolf. Nearwoken whuffed and licked her face. “Why did you do it?”

Kestrel glanced over at Starsinger. “It’s his story really — and he tells them much better than I do.”

“There isn’t that much to tell,” said Starsinger, “and it’s not a proper story yet. Stories should have endings. This one only has a beginning and part of the middle so far. But Kestrel is right that the whole thing is my fault…

“All my life I’ve heard — or perhaps ‘felt’ is a better word — a call. Not all the time and in the beginning not very strong, but it’s been there since I was a tiny child. While I lived in my birth-home, the Enchanted Valley, it was never more than an inclination, easy to ignore. But there came a day when the enchantment that protected the Valley was no more. Then humans came and destroyed my home and tribe.” There were understanding nods among the seated elves.

“It might well be said that the call saved my life that day,” Starsinger continued, “for I had followed it, without really thinking about it, far up the river, so that I was not there when the humans attacked. We found later that a few of my tribefolk survived, but I doubt I would have been one of them. Afterward, when I fled the Valley, I continued to follow the call and so came to the Aerie. There I found a new life with the Hawkfriends.” He smiled over at Kestrel. “For a time that was enough.

“But among the Hawkfriends the call had also been heard. Many years ago, during a time of great sickness, an elf called Cloudwatcher had a dying vision of rainbow spires rising above a plain of ice. With the vision came a prophecy that all the ‘lost children’ would be gathered together in joy — would come home. The Hawkfriends titled him the Dreamer and kept his vision in memory. When they showed it to me, I recognized the call at once.

“To the Dreamer it came as an image. To me it was always a direction. When we put the two together we realized it might have a name.” Starsinger paused, then went on in a lower voice that nevertheless could be heard by everyone, “We think what calls me is the Lost Dwelling of the High Ones.” There were soft gasps of wonder and disbelief from the elves of Fixed Star Holt. If any of them had been listening with half an ear before, Starsinger had their full attention now.

He went on, “Even though we guessed this, we did nothing about it for nearly four hands of years. We had the everyday business of living to attend to — and also there was Lark.” A smile came into the singer’s eyes at the thought of his daughter. “But over the years the call became stronger and more frequent. Often the sight of the spires and the plain of ice would invade my dreams.

“Then — it must have been about a year ago; it was the same season it is now — a new dream came to me, strong and vivid, full of bright images that I only partly understood. The High Ones themselves were in it, and a golden-haired elf child with dark skin, and many other things. I could not recall all of it the next morning. But the call was there too, stronger than ever before. I knew then beyond doubt that I was being summoned to the Lost Dwelling of the High Ones, there to find—” He spread his hands. “—who can tell? My destiny, maybe. I tried to resist. I stayed in the Aerie during that year’s white cold, telling myself I could not travel in winter anyway. Perhaps I hoped that by the new green it would go away. Instead as the snow melted the call grew even stronger. I knew I could not stay in the Aerie, much as I had come to love it. So I set out to find the source of that call.”

“And you came with him?” Riskrunner asked Kestrel.

“Yes,” she replied. “He is my lifemate … and one less fit to make a long journey in unknown lands all by himself, you’ve never seen!”

“Oh, come now!” Starsinger protested, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I got to the Aerie all right after a moon’s journey, didn’t I?”

Kestrel nodded emphatically. “Uh-huh. Exhausted, half starved, and with a pack of humans on your tail. You were doing wonderfully.” She kept a straight face, but there was a twinkle in her eye.

“Well, maybe then, but now—”

“He still can’t shoot straight,” Kestrel confided to Riskrunner in a loud whisper. “Any time he gets a bow in his hand he thinks it’s some strange sort of harp and starts plucking the string.” Every archer in the group snickered. “So you see,” Kestrel concluded, slipping an arm around her lifemate’s waist, “I couldn’t let him go off alone.” Starsinger smiled, not at all put out by her teasing, and returned her squeeze.

“Some of our friends offered to come with us,” he said, “but we couldn’t let them. The tribe is small enough as it is. Besides, apart from a general direction we aren’t even sure where we’re going, much less when we shall be able to return — if ever. We did promise to come back and let them all know what we found. We do mean to of we can, but—” He shrugged and fell silent.

“So you can’t stay,” Firefrost said in disappointed tones. The gentle firemaker always welcomed new faces in the holt.

“Well, actually,” said Kestrel, “we were starting to look for someplace to settle in for a season till the white cold passes. It really is difficult to travel once the snow falls. So if you think you could put up with us till spring… It would be nice to be with other elves again.” Longing tinged the young huntress’s voice.

“Starspell?”

Firefrost looked over at her friend, who had remained silent throughout Starsinger’s tale. Once again the frosty-haired chieftess’s reply was simply, “Of course.”

 

The last few gleams of sunlight lingered on the hilltops, but dusk had come beneath the trees of Fixed Star Holt. Starsinger stood at the foot of one of the largest with his harp under one arm. One hand rested on the smooth bark of the tree-trunk. After scrambling around in its branches all day helping to weave a bower for himself and Kestrel, he already thought of the tree as a friend. It was strange, he thought with a small sigh as he settled himself in a hollow of its roots and rested his harp against his shoulder, how much this place reminded him of his birth-home, the Enchanted Valley. It was not really that similar outside of having trees and a nearby river. Perhaps it was living in a tree-home again that called forth the memories. The Fixed Star elves had given them a choice of tree or cave. Though he hadn’t said anything, he suspected Kestrel sensed his wistfulness and that had influenced her choice. She was in the bower catching a little sleep before night fell and Riskrunner and Farscout arrived to take her hunting. He had come down here to practice where his playing wouldn’t disturb her.

He ran his finger up the line of harpstrings, listening attentively, then tightened a few that were out of tune. Satisfied, he began a series of arpeggios that gradually melted into a soft melody. In the same instant that he realized he was playing “The Lay of the Seventh Swan,” he glimpsed a slender, white-haired figure coming toward him. His hands froze with shock. Then he saw the newcomer was Starspell.

“A pleasant evening to you, chieftess,” he greeted her as she approached.

“And to you, singer. Tell me, am I fated always to arrive near the end of one of your songs? That sounded like a lovely one, but it ended rather abruptly.”

Starsinger colored slightly. “That wasn’t the end,” he admitted. “You startled me, that’s all. For a moment I thought you were — someone else. I’ll be glad to sing the song for you, if you like.”

“Please do,” said Starspell, seating herself on the ground near him.

Starsinger bent to the harpstrings once more. Over the rippling introductory notes he declaimed, “This is a tale of the Enchanted Valley where I was born, in the days before the departure of Melié when we lived protected and free from fear. ‘The Lay of the Seventh Swan’ tells of how sorrow came to the Valley despite Melié’s enchantment … but it begins with love.” His clear voice rose in song:

 _‘Twas in the new green of the year  
When the apple-bloom does blow,  
And the wild swans return again  
To the pool where the lilies grow._

 _A hand and two of swans swept down,  
The wood rang with their call,  
But the seventh swan who answered them  
Was the flower among them all._

 _“O fair indeed is the wild swan  
That sails upon the air,  
But the sweet reed-slender swansdown maid  
Is a thousand times more fair._

 _“Then come to me, my own true love,  
Come hither unto me.  
The wild swans they go pair and pair,  
So wherefore should not we?”_

 _Into his strong warm arms she came  
Among the reeds so green,  
And there they stayed till daystar fled  
And the first night-stars were seen._

 _The Mother Moon rose round and pale,  
The Child Moon came behind  
To peer between the waving reeds  
Where those two lay entwined._

 _‘Twas there amid the pale moons’ light  
He gazed into her eyes,  
And in those eyes he found her soul,  
His own their equal prize._

 _“O will you cage the swan,” she cried,  
“That should untrammeled fly?”  
“Rather than so, my heart’s dear love,  
I would more gladly die._

 _“Yet every swan that sails the sky  
Flies home at last to nest.”  
“’Tis so, 'tis so, my own true love,  
And mine shall be thy breast.”_

 _The word has gone through field and bower  
With joy on every tongue,  
That the seventh swan has found her mate,  
The singer found his song._

 _’Twas in the golden time of year  
When fruit hangs ripe and sweet,  
And farmers joy in harvest-time  
Their toil’s reward to meet:_

 _Into the laden orchard came  
The singer and his fellow,  
To fill the baskets that they bore  
With apples red and yellow._

 _“Do you climb up the red-hung tree  
And I shall climb the gold,  
For well I know your fair girl-child  
This day is two years old._

 _“The sweetest fruit I’ll pluck for her,  
The highest on the tree.”  
“Take care, take care the branch will bear!”  
“O, do not fear for me!” _

_As he reached out his hand to take  
The apple sweet and round,  
The branch gave way, the harvester  
Plunged headlong to the ground._

 _“Rise up, rise up, you songshaper,  
Why do you lie so still?  
I fear you may be sorely hurt  
From taking such a spill._

 _“Rise up, rise up! Your harvest all  
Lies scattered far and wide!”  
But ne’er a move the singer made  
And ne’er a word replied._

 _The word’s gone out to the Healer,  
And to his side she’s sped,  
But at the first touch of her hand,  
She knew his soul had fled._

 _Four swans and two among the reeds,  
And they go pair and pair,  
But the seventh swan is mateless now,  
Her nest lies cold and bare._

 _'Tis now the waning of the year  
When leaves turn brown and fall,  
And oft the swans lift up their heads  
As at some distant call;_

 _And more and more upon the shore  
Strays one who seems to hear  
That seeking call upon the wind  
Come ringing cold and clear._

 _No more do strong and tender arms  
Reach warmly to enfold her,  
For cold they lie within the earth;  
There’s nothing left to hold her._

 _At last there comes a night of storm  
That shivers tree and bower,  
And many lie awake that night  
And wonder at its power._

 _Above the roaring of the wind  
They hear the sounding cry  
That comes from white and slender throats  
When mounting to the sky._

 _A hand and two of swans there came  
To the lily pool in spring,  
But seven swans this night arise  
On white and rushing wing._

 _When dawn at last came grey and pale,  
In the lily pool they found her,  
Her swansdown hair that was so fair  
Spread lily-like around her._

 _Her body lies by her lifemate’s side  
At the foot of the Mother Tree,  
But her soul has gone with the wild swans  
To fly forever free._

 

As a performer, Starsinger had a feel for his audience. As the tale of love and sorrow unfolded, he began increasingly to sense that he was not reaching Starspell. It was plain she enjoyed the song as music, the interplay of voice and instrument, rhythm and rhyme. And the storyline was getting through all right, even the confusing bit in the middle where it was sometimes hard to tell who was speaking (as he had found, to his chagrin, the first time he sang the ballad outside the Enchanted Valley). But on a deeper level, he sensed, it was as if he were singing pleasant nonsense syllables. Starspell was receiving the song with her ears and her mind, but her heart remained unmoved. Starsinger knew suddenly that the opal-eyed elf woman had never had a lifemate, never known the special love that made two hearts one. Nor had she ever experienced Recognition, that great inescapable mystery of elfin nature that joined soul to soul in a single eye-locked moment. High Ones, he’d had more sympathetic responses from children whose bodies had not yet awakened! Yet Starspell was old, old — older than any elf he had ever met before, in the Aerie or the Enchanted Valley. What strange paths had her life taken, he wondered, that she had seen so many turns of the seasons and yet had been always alone?

“Very lovely, Starsinger,” Starspell said when he had finished. “Is that your own composition or was the ballad traditional among your people?”

“Both,” he answered, “for I was the songshaper for my tribe after Chanter, my father, died. The song is about him and my mother, Swanrush. That was why you startled me, coming along just then,” he admitted in a rush. “My mother had long white hair, you see—”

“Indeed?” Starspell’s eyebrows rose a trifle.

“But not like yours,” Starsinger found himself continuing. “Not nearly so long as yours. And it was warm and soft, like swansdown.” His voice took on a faraway quality. “You … you gleam like frost in the moonslight, like the never-melting snow that lies on peaks too high to climb…” He trailed off in confusion and passed a hand over his eyes. “Forgive me,” he said with a wan smile. “My poetic imagination sometimes runs away with me.”

“I am not offended,” Starspell replied. “I am very fond of poetry. But look, the stars are coming out. Can you remember the song you played last night? I would like to hear it again.”

“Surely,” Starsinger answered. His hands moved over the harpstrings, calling forth the music of the stars. He watched her covertly as he played. This, this touched her heart and soul. He could see it in her eyes. _What are you, Starspell,_ he wondered, _that this distant song moves you where passion cannot?_

Riskrunner and Farscout, when they arrived with Nearwoken and Shock to collect Kestrel, stopped and stared at the unaccustomed sight of their haughty chieftess sitting on the ground gazing raptly at Starsinger while he played.

“Hey,” Farscout whispered to Riskrunner, “I thought you said she didn’t like boys.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Riskrunner murmured back.

“Maybe it’s the music,” guessed Farscout.

Riskrunner sniffed. “Never worked for me. But then, I don’t play a harp … and I don’t play like _that_ , either.” She stared for a moment longer, then shrugged. “Oh well, I’ve never been able to figure out why Starspell does anything. Why should this time be any different?” She glanced up at the new tree-house and sent to Kestrel.

It was not long before the ruddy-haired huntress appeared, bow in hand, and floated down from the tree. Starsinger paused and looked up as she touched ground. “Don’t stop on my account. I’m just off hunting,” she told him, brushing his cheek affectionately. “But don’t stay up all night playing — you need some sleep too. A good night to you, chieftess,” she added with a nod to Starspell, before walking over to the two wolfriders with a cheery, “I’m ready.” None of them noticed the quick glare Starspell sent after her retreating back. Starsinger, bent over his instrument, did not see it either.

 

The rising daystar sent long, slanted beams of light through leaves that were beginning to turn red and golden. The air was crisp and clear. The sky, though still pale with morning, showed promise of a brilliant, cloudless blue. As Starsinger walked along, accompanied by Firefrost and Xari, he hummed under his breath. The three elves were going to gather berries by the shore of the lake. Each carried a large basket woven of reeds. Xari also had her long spear over her shoulder.

“Is that the tune you and Riskrunner were playing last night?” Firefrost asked. She hummed a few bars along with Starsinger, then stumbled over a trill and gave it up with a laugh.

“One of them,” Starsinger agreed. “One of the more recognizable ones.” Once he had persuaded the shy huntress to join the music of her silver flute to that of his harp, it had become a game between them to see if he could keep up with her improvisations. He had ended up teaching her the trick whereby two musicians, by sending to each other, could stay together through the most extravagant cadenzas and never strike a false note. The results delighted everyone, the performers not least. Starsinger and his father had developed the technique many years ago in the Enchanted Valley. Later, in the Aerie, he taught it to his friend Mist. Lark had been learning it too as her sending powers matured along with her musical skill. They would have had a trio before long. Suddenly Starsinger missed them all acutely, his friends in the Aerie and especially his daughter.

“I can tell we’re going to miss you when you have to leave,” Xari said, unconsciously chiming with the singer’s thoughts. “Still,” the dark-skinned healer went on, “if it’s only to be for a season, white cold’s the best time. Music like that will liven up the long nights no end.”

“It surely will,” agreed Firefrost. “Will you really have to leave when the new green comes?” she added, a wistful look in her brown eyes.

“No one can tell what the next moon may bring,” said Starsinger, “but I think I shall have to. If I could follow the desires of my heart, I would never have left the Aerie. But the call is stronger — it has me by the soul. I do not think I shall be able to rest anywhere for long until I have answered it.”

“Well, I’m sure we’re all glad you came here even for a little while,” Firefrost told him with a smile, “even Starspell.”

Starsinger raised an eyebrow at her. “’Even’ Starspell?”

Firefrost colored and looked away. Xari said quietly, “She doesn’t take to many people the way she has to you. While I’ve never known her to turn away an elf who wished to join us, she rarely warms to anyone. But she seems to be attracted to you. I’m not sure why.”

“I think maybe you remind her of someone,” Firefrost murmured, but would say nothing more.

Starsinger shrugged. “Perhaps. I think it is more that we have something in common.” That drew interested looks from the other two, but like Firefrost he was reluctant to discuss what he knew or guessed about their enigmatic chieftess.

The three elves came out from under the trees into the full sunlight, where a grassy bank ran down to the lake shore. Clumped along the edge of the water were thick bushes with dark, glossy leaves and bright clusters of fruit.

“Redberries!” Starsinger exclaimed with delight. “I haven’t tasted those since I left the Enchanted Valley. They don’t grow in the mountains.” The elves unslung their baskets and began gathering the blood-red clusters. Xari stuck her spear in the ground near to hand.

“Starsinger, you’re eating more than you’re picking!” Firefrost accused.

“Not true!” Starsinger merrily contradicted her around a sweet-sour mouthful. “I pick them before I eat them.”

“Don’t worry about it, Firefrost,” Xari said mildly. “If he eats them now he won’t be hungry for them tonight.”

“Don’t count on it,” the singer grinned. “I thought I’d try a swim in your lake later this afternoon. There’s nothing better for working up an appetite.”

The healer shook her head in mock despair and moved away to the next bush. As she reached for the nearest cluster of berries a five-fingered hand darted from the leaves and grabbed her wrist. Her basket fell to the ground as she was jerked forward. Before she could draw breath to cry out she was clubbed over the head and slumped against the stiff branches of the bush.

“Humans!” Firefrost screamed, dropping her basket. As if on cue, two human warriors appeared from the bushes behind her and seized the brown-haired elf before she could run. One clamped a hand over her mouth and held her fast despite her struggles, while the other headed for Starsinger. The one who had clubbed Xari came at him from the other side. The singer gained a few moments by bolting toward the lake rather than away. But a skillfully thrown stone club struck him in the small of the back just as he reached the water and knocked him forward onto his knees.

**KEE!** he locksent in pure terror as heavy feet splashed toward him and large hands grasped him roughly. Something hard connected with the back of his head and he slumped, semi-conscious. Dimly he felt himself being dragged ashore. Thongs were lashed around his wrists and ankles. A vile-tasting wad of hide was thrust into his mouth and tied there. He knew he should try to send something more, to alert the holt. Xari was probably unconscious (he prayed the High Ones it was only that) and Firefrost couldn’t send. When his head cleared a little he would do so. He felt himself being picked up and thrown over a human’s shoulder like a sack, head dangling. Terror surged afresh as the human began to move. Where were they taking him? What would they do when they got there? Starsinger had not had much contact with humans, but the little he had led him to believe that whatever they had in mind would not be pleasant.

He forced his eyes open a crack and saw the other two humans behind. Each carried a limp elfin form. The grins on their faces were ones of savage triumph. That decided him. He must send to the rest of the holt, and fast. But even as he gathered strength for the effort, something white came streaking from the woods like a shooting star. It arrowed straight toward the humans, then halted in midair. It was Starspell. Her long hair flowed about her, glistening like snow in the sun, and her opaline eyes flashed, but her perfect features were distorted with rage. When she spoke, her voice was almost a snarl. “Put them down, five-fingers.” The three humans halted and gaped at the shimmering apparition that hung in the air before them. “Put them down now,” Starspell repeated in the humans’ guttural tongue, “and I shall grant you a quick death.”

The human who held Xari had also picked up her spear. He raised it to throw at the shining white demon, but never completed the motion. Starspell glared at him, a strange gleam in her opal eyes, and he crumpled with a hoarse cry. Xari tumbled from his grasp and rolled a little way on the soft grass. Starsinger saw the healer stir. Meanwhile the human began to writhe. His eyes bulged, his hands clutched the air, and his legs kicked uselessly. Screams of agony tore from him. The singer stared at him with growing horror. The screaming seemed to go on forever, but it could really only have been a short time before the man’s body stiffened, then went limp and lifeless.

That was enough for the other two humans. They dropped their burdens and ran. Starsinger recovered his breath in time to see Starspell soar after the human who had been carrying him. The warrior convulsed and fell. This time it was quicker; the man was dead before he hit the ground. The elfin chieftess turned to look for the third human, spotted him bolting for the trees, and started after. But before she reached him he pitched forward with a brown-feathered arrow in his heart.

**Starsinger!** Kestrel burst from the trees and raced toward her lifemate, her bow still in her hand, as Starspell landed to inspect the third human. The small huntress was half running, half flying as she crossed the grass to Starsinger’s side. When she knelt beside him to sever his bonds, she felt him trembling. **It’s all right,** she soothed, gathering him into her arms. **You’re safe. They’re all dead.**

Her attempt at reassurance only brought on a more violent fit of shuddering as Starsinger clung to her. “Dead,” he whispered, “all dead. She killed them … without touching them … with her mind. I saw it! He was thrashing on the ground and screaming, screaming… No one deserves to die like that. No one!”

Kestrel had no idea what he was talking about. She held him close and stroked his hair, waiting for him to calm down. Nearby she saw Xari roll over and sit up groggily, pushing her cloudy mass of white hair out of her face. The healer sat for a few moments with her hands to her head, then got up and went over to Firefrost. Starspell joined her there. The chieftess looked on in concern until under Xari’s ministrations the firemaker too could sit up. Starspell patted her friend’s shoulder and murmured a few words that caused Firefrost to smile shakily. Then she straightened and came over to Kestrel and Starsinger.

“All well here?” she queried. “Has he been harmed?”

At the sound of her voice the singer started and his eyes flew open. Horror lay in their green depths. “No!” he moaned. “Keep away!”

“Starsinger, it’s all right!” Kestrel said. “It’s only Starspell. I think he’s still in shock,” she explained to the chieftess.

Starsinger closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them again and sat up. “I am not,” he declared. “I know what I saw — correct?” He looked up at the tall elf woman. “You killed those humans with the power of your mind, shattered their bodies from within. Is it not so?” His voice wavered slightly, but there was a note of accusation in it too. Starspell did not answer. Kestrel stared at her with dawning comprehension. Her glance flicked to the contorted human body nearby, not visibly wounded but very dead, then back to Starspell.

“Anti-healing,” she breathed. “My father mentioned it once, but only as something evil, the thing a true healer must never do.”

Starspell returned her gaze with eyes as hard as the gemstones they resembled. “I am no healer,” she replied coldly. “I am Starspell, Mistress of Mind and Magic. My powers are my own to use as I see fit. If I have used them today to slay our enemies, does that make them more evil than your bow and arrow, little huntress?”

Just then more elves burst out of the trees, more of Fixed Star’s warriors — Riskrunner, Farscout, Redstar, Evening Star, others, weapons in hand. They paused to take in the scene before them, then came forward at a slower pace. Starspell stepped toward them with a sardonic smile. “Well, well,” she said to Riskrunner as the golden-haired wolfrider rode up, “better late than never, I suppose. Could you or one of our other mighty hunters perhaps backtrack these humans and see where they came from? And how they got past whoever is supposed to be our lookout?”

“Topaz is on right now,” Riskrunner said. “He took over from Farscout at first light.”

“I think the humans may have been here before then,” Xari supplied. “They were lying in wait for us and we arrived not long after sunrise.”

Evening Star and Farscout were already examining the bushes where the humans had hidden and arguing over what the signs showed. Riskrunner slid from Nearwoken’s back and came over to Kestrel and Starsinger, the wolf trotting after her. “Are you all right, Starsinger?” she asked in concern, crouching down beside them. “We came as soon as Starspell gave the alarm. How did you get here so fast, Kestrel? You were out of your tree and halfway down the trail before I could get Drips on his feet.” She gave her wolf-friend a playful cuff. “I tried to send to you but you didn’t answer.”

“Sending — I couldn’t even _think_ of sending!” Kestrel exclaimed. “When you’re called like that, you _move!_ I was out of that tree before I knew what was happening and it’s a miracle I remembered to grab my bow. When you yell for help, beloved,” she added to Starsinger, “you don’t play around.”

Her lifemate stared at her, then shifted his gaze to Riskrunner. “Starspell gave the alarm?” Riskrunner nodded, puzzled. “You didn’t send to her?” he demanded of Kestrel. Kestrel shook her head. Starsinger buried his face in his hands and moaned.

“Starsinger, what is it?” Kestrel asked anxiously, putting her arms around him again. When he didn’t answer she sent, **Beloved, what’s wrong? Tell me!**

“Once,” he replied at last in a shaking voice. “I was able to send once — to you — before they hit me on the head. But it was locksent! I swear by the Lost Dwelling of the High Ones it was!”

“Oh, that’s not impossible,” Riskrunner said with a wry twist of her mouth. “A lot of times Starspell can pick your thoughts right out of the air whether they’re locksent or not.” She glanced over to where the chieftess was conferring with Farscout and Evening Star. “You can learn to shut her out, though, if you want to. Why, what’s the matter?” Kestrel’s eyes had gone wide. Her face was drained of color, and she wore an expression that might have been either terror or cold fury.

“Oh beloved,” Starsinger whispered, “can you ever forgive me?”

Kestrel’s face softened a trifle as she hugged him. “Of course I can. It’s not your fault. You were in terror of your life and you called for help. Who wouldn’t? You couldn’t know.” She met Riskrunner’s questioning look. “I think it may be a little late for me to learn how to keep Starspell out of my mind,” she went on in a brittle tone. “You see, she knows my soul name.”

 

It was late afternoon. Starspell stood outside the entrance to her dwelling, listening to Farscout and Evening Star’s report. Firefrost sat nearby, picking bits of debris from a salvaged basket of redberries and sorting out the hopelessly squashed ones.

“—so that’s why I didn’t detect them when they came by. They wore some sort of potion that took away their scent.” Farscout ran a hand through his crest of thick black hair. “Now that I think about it, I heard something not too long before Topaz arrived, but the wind was setting that way and I didn’t smell anything, so I thought it was just the wind in the leaves, or my imagination.”

“Hmf! You wolfblooded put too much trust in your noses,” Evening Star told him. “But at least we know how they got past you, so it won’t happen again. I’ll stay on watch tonight in case they send someone to look for those three. Might make up for missing the fun.” The raven-haired huntress hefted her crossbow. As she and Farscout headed off across the holt, they passed Xari and Riskrunner coming the other way. The two looked worried and returned their tribemates’ greetings only perfunctorily.

The tall healer strode up to her chieftess. “Starspell, you have to talk to Kestrel and Starsinger. They’re on the verge of leaving.”

“Oh, no!” Firefrost exclaimed. “Why? Because of the humans?”

“You frightened them both badly,” Riskrunner told Starspell. “Starsinger’s terrified and Kestrel’s scared too, though she’s trying not to show it.”

Starspell scowled. “What do you expect me to do about it? If they want to leave, let them leave. It’s their choice.”

“Not much of one,” Xari snapped, “with the white cold coming on. What chance do they have of finding another place to wait out the winter before the first snow? We can’t let them go now.”

“If you’re so worried about them, you talk them out of it,” Starspell retorted. “I’m sure Firefrost will be glad to help.” Firefrost nodded vigorously.

“I am not the problem,” Xari said between her teeth, “and neither is Firefrost, and you know it. It’s you they’re scared of.”

“I never wanted the little barbarian’s soul name!” Starspell shouted. “Can I help it if her witling of a lifemate practically throws it at me?”

“Hardly that,” Xari replied, frowning, “but I’ll grant you it was an accident. That’s beside the point. You have it now whether you want it or not. The question is what you’re going to do with it.”

“Nothing. What did they think I was going to do?”

“They don’t know. That’s the trouble. You’ve just shown them how powerful you are. Now they find that Kestrel’s been placed completely in your power. They have no idea what you may do. You’re the only one who can tell them that.”

“Maybe you could tell Kestrel your soul name,” Firefrost piped up. “Then you’d be even, wouldn’t you?”

Starspell glared at her. Riskrunner said quickly, “No, Firefrost, you don’t know what you’re talking about. It might sound fair, but it doesn’t work that way. If Kestrel gave her soul name freely that would be one thing. Then it would be a terrible breach of trust for Starspell not to give hers in return. But this…” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t give my soul name under those circumstances — and I like Kestrel. You can’t mend one broken egg with the glop from another one.”

“Oh.” Firefrost looked baffled but accepted Riskrunner’s explanation. “But can’t you do something, Starspell?” she pleaded. “Xari’s right — we can’t let them go off now. You don’t really want them to leave, do you?”

Starspell stood silent for a few moments as all of them looked at her. Then she said, “I will see what I can do,” and stalked off across the holt.

 

Kestrel looked over her dwindling supply of arrows. Half a quiver, some with the fletching so badly damaged they would never fly true — aside from the one with the broken point. That might do for a bird-bolt still. She sighed. Even if she could repair the damaged ones, they weren’t nearly enough for a long journey. She had counted on having the winter to make more. Maybe she could borrow some from Riskrunner.

Skyfire blast it, she didn’t _want_ to leave, not when they’d just begun to make new friends after more than half a year of loneliness. But every time she thought of an anti-healer knowing her soul name, the cold blade of fear in her stomach gave another twist. As for Starsinger… She stole a glance at her lifemate, who sat brooding in one corner of the bower. He was calmer now than he had been earlier, but he was too quiet and his harp lay untouched in another corner. He still felt he had betrayed her. If they stayed here she feared what the strain might do to his mind. Yet if they left now, they might die in the wilderness before they could find suitable shelter for the winter. That had always been a possibility, of course, from the day they first set out on this dream-led quest, and she had accepted the risk with relative equanimity. Life was never certain. But it seemed too hard that what might drive them to it was another elf, one of their own kind.

The leaves outside the entrance to the bower rustled. Both Kestrel and Starsinger looked up. A voice called softly, “May I enter?”

 _Now you’re asking permission?_ Kestrel thought with a touch of bitterness, but all she said was, “Come in.” Starspell parted the branches and slipped through into the bower. Lowering herself to the floor, she fixed the two elves with her opal gaze.

“Riskrunner and Xari told me you two are thinking of leaving,” she said.

Starsinger looked back at her. “We’re thinking about it,” he acknowledged. His green eyes met hers steadily, but she could still see traces of fear in them. She remembered the way those eyes had first looked at her, the innocent admiration she had seen there. The memory cut her like a knife. “Why?” she asked.

“You know why.”

Starspell sighed. “What is it that you fear? What happened today was no plan of mine. I did not desire it. But it cannot be undone.” She looked at Kestrel levelly. “In a way your fears are correct. My powers can be resisted by a sufficiently strong or trained mind, especially a healer’s. But not by one whose soul name I know. With that knowledge I could kill you between one breath and the next. There would be no way for you to defend yourself.” She picked up one of the arrows that lay on the floor in front of Kestrel and examined it. “You are a highly skilled archer. If you wished, you could probably steal up on anyone in this tribe and kill them with a single arrow. Would you do it?”

Kestrel was silent. After a moment Starsinger said, “I see what you are trying to say. But what Kestrel would or would not do is beside the point. I know Kestrel would not. I can make a fair guess that most of the elves in this holt would not. But you are a mystery to me, Starspell. You have said yourself that none of your followers are like you. I have heard their tales and I know they have loves and hates and passions I can understand. What your tale may be I have not heard and cannot imagine. What kind of tale could produce such a one as you, beautiful and terrible as a skyfire storm, shining and distant and cold as a winter star or snow on the mountain, the snow that can engulf a traveler without warning? Who would wish to trust their lives to one of these?”

Kestrel stirred. “I for one, beloved,” she said slowly, “or have you forgotten I am a stormdancer? Risk can be sweet if you choose it.” She cocked a challenging eye at Starspell. “But even when you do choose it, you can only choose it for yourself. I didn’t stormdance while I was carrying Lark. And I have more than myself to think of now.”

Starspell gazed at Starsinger consideringly. Finally she said, “You drive a hard bargain, singer. A heart for a soul? Perhaps it is fitting. Very well, taleshaper, follower of visions, I give you — a vision of Starspell.”

Without warning her sending engulfed them, an avalanche of sensation and memory. The first image, clear yet remote, was a sight of crystal spires that made Starsinger gasp. Could it be? But no, they were not the spires of the Dreamer’s vision. Towers, caverns, soaring pillars and porticoes of ice, a dwelling shaped after memories of that which had been lost, but not the same. Elves dwelt there, tall and slender, white of hair and skin, with ever-changing eyes, elves who had turned to seek the powers within themselves as the world grew cold around them. Two there were who one day found their souls entangled.

**Skyfree. Starless.**

Flickering images, faces loving and serene and severe. One more frequent than the others, but elusive. And another—

He stepped from the flow of sending-pictures like a swimmer from a stream, young and fair, sweet-faced, dreamy-eyed, and reached out a slender musician’s hand to Starsinger as if in greeting. What passed between them was not unlike the shock of Recognition, or of seeing one’s own reflection in an unexpected pool.

**Moonkeep, dearest brother.** He was gone. The other face was there again for a moment, cold and proud — a face that recalled Starspell’s own, framed like hers with a faceguard wrought of opal, but cast in a masculine mold. Then it too was swept away. A cloud of choking dust arose. Dust and ashes, fire and blood, the towers of ice crumbling, screams and shouts and death… Starsinger knew such images all too well from his own memories of the sack of the Enchanted Valley. A sudden, painfully sharp picture: Moonkeep lying broken, the life fading from his eyes. One who fled and would not aid. Grief and rage rising, sending death streaking through the air to find him and strike him to the ground, a knife in his back, blood welling around it, blood on her hands, oh High Ones what have I done never again not ever…

Then tumbling down a long tunnel of years, ever faster, dark and light blending and blurring, powers waking, honed by remembered hate and the demands of survival, but alone, always alone. A distant many-voiced call swelling, swelling — one that had been there all the time, Starsinger realized, but only became noticeable in the void that was solitude. It was a call he knew: not the overpowering one that had torn him from home and family, but the sweet song of the stars — the song he shared with Starspell. Then a bright, sudden jumble of newly familiar faces: Firefrost dearest friend, Xari dearest foe, Redstar Evening Star Topaz Riskrunner Farscout—

—himself, the singer in the starlight—

**Elves. My kind, my kin, different as we may be. No harm shall come to them that I can prevent, never again.**

The torrent of sending was cut off. The three of them sat on the floor of the bower looking at each other. Starsinger’s eyes glistened with tears. He bowed his head. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I am answered. We will stay. I — no longer feel the need to run away.” He looked up with a sudden smile. “And Starspell — I am honored.”

Kestrel looked at Starspell with her head cocked at a speculative angle. “Sendings can’t lie,” she said, “but you didn’t tell us everything, did you? Enough, but not everything.”

Starspell smiled wryly. “Hardly. That would take several turns of the seasons at least. You do plan to be off with the first thaw, not so? Besides, I must keep some mystery.” She got to her feet, the top of her head almost brushing the roof of the bower. “Well, if that is settled, I shall go and relieve the anxious minds of the rest of the holt. Doubtless they will wish to celebrate. Can we count on you for a song or two, harper?”

“Any time of the day or night, chieftess,” Starsinger replied, reaching for his harp.

“I’ve got something more energetic in mind,” Kestrel said, hopping up and looking Starspell in the eye. “How would you like to learn the Hawks’ Ring?”

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> "The Lay of the Seventh Swan" does have a tune (and if you catch me at a convention with my guitar, I'll be happy to sing it for you), but it will fit nicely with other traditional ballad tunes. Try your favorite setting of "Tam Lin" for starters...


End file.
